Falling Away With You
by Lamia Angel of Death
Summary: John has been having dreams of Sherlock's fall. When Sherlock comes back into his life after have been dead for two years, the experience has come back on him full force and he is angry with him. Can the two reconcile? A Soft Johnlock story.


Hello ladies and gentlemen! It has been a long time since I have written a fanfiction. I wrote this one as part of a valentines day contest on a roleplaying website I frequent, however I wrote way to many words (it was 700 over on the 1k limit and there was no earthly way I could have shortened it). I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. They belong to BBC, Moffat, etc. I am doing this for the entertainment of others...etc. etc.

Now, enjoy!

* * *

All John Watson saw was darkness. It always started like this, his dreams. He'd usually dream of his experience in the war and wake up in a cold sweat. But ever since that day for two years, he's had another dream. It came much more frequently than his war dream, hell, he even asked for his war dream because it wasn't that dream.

There was an explosion of colors and light and he was found himself standing in front of Saint Bartholomew's Hospital. He knew this scene very well, even slightly acknowledging it in his dream, but could never do anything to stop it.

He felt his cell phone ring in his pocket and he pulled it out. The name 'Sherlock Holmes' flashed across the screen. His mind told him not to pick it up, that something was not right but he did anyways almost as if it were automatic. He held the phone up to his ear and listened to the familiar voice on the other side. His body automatically replied to the voice on the other side of his phone.

Then he looked up towards the hospital and saw the very person who was on the other side of that phone: Sherlock Holmes. His flat-mate and his best friend stood at the very top of the hospital, just on the very edge. The words that were exchanged were hard to hear, but he could hear whispers and echoes of it throughout his dream.

"_I…I can't come down, so we'll just have to do it like this."_

"What's going on?" John replied.

"_An apology…."_

"…_I'm a fake"_

Bits and pieces of the conversation were all he could comprehend. His body told him to run to his friend, to stop him but he couldn't move from his spot. Many words were exchanged, all of them muffled and a blur.

'_It's a trick…just a magic trick…'_

Finally, his body moved. "Stop it now."

"_No! Stay exactly where you are!"_

His mind protested, but his body obeyed. "Alright…"

The man on the rooftop held his hand out. _"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Can you do this for me?"_ Sherlock said, his voice sounding desperate.

"Do what?" He dared ask.

"_This call…it's…it's my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."_

His mind screamed at him to run over there but his body wouldn't move. He knew what was coming next. "L-Leave a note w-when?!"

The next moment, his chest growing heavy with dread.

"…_Goodbye, John."_

"No! Don't! Get down from there, I lo-" His words were cut off as he watched Sherlock throw the phone to the side. "SHERLOCK!"

Then he saw Sherlock jump. Time seemed to slow down as he did so and all he could do was watch in horror as his best friend descended through the air to the ground. Then he heard the sickening thud of the body hitting the ground.

Everything else was a blur as darkness descended on his dream once more at a quickening pace. The last thing he saw was the dead body of his best friend, blood painting the sidewalk and Sherlock's porcelain skin.

* * *

John sat up, his body shaking. His breath was haggard and he breathed it out in labored pants. His body was damp with sweat, hinting about what was going on in his dream. He blinked, shaking his head as he recalled the dream. He sat there, putting his head in his hands all but sobbing from the experience. After he had fully woken up, he got out of bed and went to turn the light on.

The room became illuminated with light and he squinted a bit. The surroundings for a moment he didn't recognize until he realized where he was; he was back at Baker Street. But this wasn't his room. No the occupant of the room lay in the bed John just got out of, covered up in a blanket.

John walked up to the bed, pulling back the covers slightly. "…Sherlock…" He muttered, staring at the mop of dark brown curly hair. It all flooded back to him: Sherlock was alive. He was _alive_! His eye studied him as if to make sure he was real and sure enough he could see the rise and fall of the other's chest.

After a moment of admiring his beauty, he proceeded to leave the room and head to the bathroom. He splashed water on his face and began to recollect the previous day's events.

John sat in his chair across from Sherlock; his friend who was supposed to be dead. He could feel his anger boiling in his chest. The nerve of Sherlock for not telling him his plan! He was supposed to be his best friend. He simply sat there, staring at him and he was appalled that Sherlock had the nerve to sit there like nothing was wrong. He tried his best to get Sherlock to see what he did was wrong, but the other had a logical explanation for it. John did understand it and it did make sense, but he was hurt that the other didn't trust him enough to tell him.

"If I did tell you, would it have made the situation any better?" Sherlock asked, reclining back.

"It would have made the past two years much easier." He said, clenching his jaw.

The consulting detective sat there for a moment staring at John, his silver eyes calculating. John had always found the other's eyes entrancing and he found himself getting lost in them. He started to feel a measure of his anger start to melt away. They sat in silence for a moment until an expression came across Sherlock's face that he never saw before; was that guilt?

The raven haired man leaned forward, taking John's hands into his. The other moved as if to protest, but Sherlock cut him off. "I'm…I'm sorry, John. I really am. I should have trusted you…I should have told you. I thought what I did would have made things easier. But, I see that you've been hurting all this time." Before John could say anything, he was interrupted again. "…Your limp is back." He said, nodding his head to his leg. "Psychosomatic limp caused by mental trauma…and I know you aren't thinking about Afghanistan."

John frowned, looking towards the floor. Sherlock was right, after that day his limp came back and he just accepted it, returning to his old routine. He never really thought about it until Sherlock brought it up. He felt the hands over his tighten and he looked up towards the other man. He saw a tinge of sadness in his expression, one thing he never thought he would see. He felt one of his hands being drawn up to the other's face and what happened next surprised him; Sherlock kissed him on his right hand.

"I am so sorry John, what I did was reckless and selfish. I made you suffer and it was wrong of me. I…" He chewed his bottom lip, unsure what to say next. "This…this is hard for me to say as you know…I'm not one for these kinds of words…"

John knew what he meant, understanding. This was the best apology he was going to get out of Sherlock and he knew it. He heaved a sigh, his fingers folding slightly to caress the other's hand. "I forgive you. But you have to promise me…" He said, looking Sherlock dead in the eye. "…To never, do anything like that ever again." He watched the other nod and his shoulders sagged slightly as the tension left them. He felt the other's hands move, their fingers locking together. His eyes widened in surprise and he could feel his pulse quicken.

"Is this…what they do?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head to the side.

"I-Is what? Who?" John asked, gulping. He could feel his body start to heat up.

The other man sat there for a moment, studying him. "I have something to show you…" He said, not answering the question. "It's a response…to our last phone conversation."

John felt his heart thud and he tried to remember what he meant. His mind wandered back to the fall; Sherlock's Fall. He could never forget what was said, never. He hoped he knew what conversation Sherlock meant. "I…what was it?"

Sherlock leaned forward a bit, using his hands to pull John forward with him. The next thing Sherlock did caught the doctor by surprise. "I…" He leaned forward, planting a kiss on the left side of the other's mouth. "Love…" Another on the right side. "You…" One on his chin. "…Too." As the final word was said, Sherlock went all the way, kissing John on his lips.

John was nearly overwhelmed with what was happening in the situation, but he began to feel himself melt. Sherlock Holmes was kissing him. Kissing him! He could hardly believe it. He felt the other pull back and look into his eyes, unsure and needing validation. After all Sherlock had done, could he really accept him doing that?

"…Sod it." John pulled his arms, pulling Sherlock towards him and kissing him once more. He felt the other one give a sigh in relief and accept John's response. After a moment of doing this John drew back, looking at Sherlock; a smile was splayed on his face. This caused Sherlock to smile in response.

* * *

John sighed softly, remembering the day before and a smile crept onto his face. He finished wiping off the water on his face when he heard the door to the bedroom creak open. He heard the footfall and turned to see Sherlock walk into the bathroom, his eyes squinting a bit.

"…You have another nightmare, John?" He asked; his baritone voice as smooth as silk.

The doctor chuckled. "…Yeah. How could you tell?"

Sherlock walked up behind him. "Your space on the bed is damp and so is your shirt which hints at perspiration, which can only be caused by-"

"Sherlock, please it's too early in the morning for that." He said, rubbing his temples.

Sherlock stopped, reassessing the situation. He walked up behind John and wrapped his arms around him, engulfing him. John shivered, feeling the other's body heat against his. "…I'm not going anywhere John. I'm very much alive…and I'm right here." At those words he felt himself relax, reclining slightly against Sherlock. The other smiled. "Come on John, let's go lay down."

And John complied following the other to his room. He could still hardly believe Sherlock was alive, but here he was. John would always stay by his side no matter what; he wouldn't lose Sherlock ever again.

* * *

Alas, this was a short one as well. I hope you enjoyed reading it!


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